


A Chill In The Air

by camshaft22, thedarlingone (Curuchamion)



Series: Refracted Fairytales [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Halloween, Hobbie narration, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Samhain, Tam Lin inspired, Worldbuilding, i have opinions about tam lin retellings okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camshaft22/pseuds/camshaft22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/thedarlingone
Summary: Halloween. I had a week. It would be a lot of work and a significant risk to myself, but I had to save Wes before he was whisked into Faerie forever.
Relationships: Wes Janson/Derek "Hobbie" Klivian, Wes Janson/Original Male Character
Series: Refracted Fairytales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648210
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. The Thinning Veil

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/capsule_169/status/1184224046382235648?s=09): _The cute barista at Kayleigh's favourite coffee shop keeps spelling her name wrong. Today, she finally plucks up the courage to tell her. "Oh, um, I know," she admits. Then, she leans close and whispers "this shop is run by the fae, to collect names. But, um, I like you..."_
> 
> With many thanks to each other for inspiration, beta reading, and general awesomeness, and to TigerKat for giving thedarlingone Opinions about Tam Lin retellings.
> 
> Disclaimer: we don't own anything but our cars.

** Hobbie **

My favorite coffeeshop is crowded and bustling, as usual. I wait politely in line, watching over the heads of the shorter customers as the sturdy, dark-haired barista takes each one's order, scribbling names on cups and greeting each customer with a friendly smile. By now, I can track the ways he misspells the names of his regulars. He never makes a mistake in an order, but seldom gets a name completely right.

Just before I step up to the register, the owner's spoiled eldest son wanders in. I roll my eyes internally, watching him amble up behind the counter. As expected, he announces his presence by pinching the barista's ass. The man jumps a little, but turns with a good grace. "Hey, Darren," he says, smiling fondly up at his… boyfriend, or whatever they are to each other.

"Good morning, Wes," Darren purrs, stroking Wes's jawline possessively. Cupping his chin in one hand, he leans down and kisses Wes thoroughly.

Once they break apart, Wes gives him a slightly more guarded smile. "I do still have a job to do, you know," he points out cheerfully.

"For now," Darren agrees. I really, really hate that smug tone of his. Hate it. "Just remember who you belong to." He casually squeezes Wes's bicep and turns away, wandering off again without waiting for a response. The absolute arrogance…

Wes turns back to me, flushing slightly. "Sorry about that, Hobbie," he says, seeming to gather himself together and find his equilibrium again. "What can I get you? The usual?"

"Of course," I reply, dropping some change in the tip jar.

Wes scribbles 'Hobie' on an extra-large cup, along with the arcane symbols indicating my usual coffee order, and scoots it along the counter. "Anything else?"

I give it a moment's thought. "Not now," I reply. Not with Darren still lurking around. Not inside the walls of the coffee shop.

Wes nods in acknowledgment. "See you around, Hobbs," he says, and there's that sunny smile again, bright and genuine as ever.

If his schedule hasn't changed again -- always a possibility, especially with Darren meddling and being overprotective -- Wes should be on break in about fifteen minutes. I'll take my coffee and scone over to the little park behind the coffeeshop, where we usually sit and talk, and… well, take my chances.

***

Time passes as I wait. I have time; I'm not scheduled to teach any of my classes until later. And my curiosity has been piqued by the scene inside. Certainly, what I overheard confirms some of my suspicions, but only raises more. Perhaps Wes will be here soon to pry some answers from.

Finally Wes appears, carrying a drink cup and a cinnamon roll. He looks… not tired, exactly, but a little discouraged. The sunny temperament that always seems to radiate from him is dim today. He lights up a bit when he sees me, but not much.

"Hey, Hobbs," he says with a halfhearted attempt at a smile. "I'm glad you're still here. I…" He sighs. "I'm not going to be working here for much longer. I just wanted to let you know." He takes a bite of the cinnamon roll, beginning to peel back the outermost coil with his teeth and lick away the frosting. I used to wonder if he was being unnecessarily sexual about that, but having seen him dissect pastries the same way when he thinks no one is watching, I've decided that's just something he does.

"Oh," I say, frowning. "That's too bad." I had my suspicions already about Wes's continued tenure at the coffee shop, but I hadn't expected such swift, decisive confirmation. "Are you leaving?"

Wes's mouth twists. "I've known I was leaving for a while," he admits. "Just got a date. I'll be out of here after Halloween. I'm sorry, I should probably have told you sooner."

"Ah, the scene with the boyfriend? Possessive bloke," I say with a grimace. I know more about the situation than Wes realizes. Not everything, but some. I'm fishing for information, but subtly. "He making you quit?" If I'm correct, the answer will be yes. Darren, you complete ass.

Wes blushes, brown skin going several shades darker over his cheekbones. "It's not like that," he says defensively. "He's… offered me a different situation. It's good, I just -- I won't be able to see you any more."

I nod politely. "I agree that you deserve better than this, but I'll miss our usual moments. I'm sorry to see you go. What will you be doing?" Poor Wes. He's trying so hard to act like everything's fine.

"Mostly busywork," he says with an almost sincere smile. "I won't have to be on my feet all day. It'll be great." He takes a big bite of the cinnamon roll and a drink from his coffee cup.

No, he'll be on his knees instead. I laugh sardonically. "His pampered boy, I suppose?" I say dryly. "I know the type. If you have need, I can help."

Wes swallows his mouthful. "Hobbie, no," he says, and I can see the honest fear that flickers deep in his eyes for a second. He's concerned for my safety, not his own. "Please, don't get involved," he begs me. "He'll destroy you. He's more powerful than you know." He goes quiet, obviously fearing he's said too much.

"Wes," I say, giving him a look, trying to communicate without saying it in so many words that he's safe, that he can ask me for help if he truly wants it. Perhaps he genuinely is willing and happy to go with Darren, but I don't think so. "I appreciate your concern, but it's not too late. Whatever it is he's holding over you, I might be able to help."

Wes pulls a wry little face. "I wish you could," he mutters, and I thrill inside. That's enough to allow me to intervene. "No, Hobbie," Wes continues. "It's bad enough I'm tangled up in this. Please… for your own safety, please stay far away."

I frown deeply in mostly simulated disappointment. "Well, perhaps if I can't help you, I can at least be a friend in this trying time," I offer. There's no guarantee that what I'm planning will work. I'd like to keep seeing Wes on his breaks over the next week before Halloween.

"I'd like that," Wes admits shyly. "Just… be safe, okay?"

"I'm being very safe," I tell him. That's the truth, more than he knows. "But I'm sorry he's an asshole." That's true too.

Wes's mouth quirks. He doesn't agree or disagree out loud with my assessment, just takes another bite of cinnamon roll and tucks it into his cheek like a chipmunk. It's unreasonably adorable. "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asks around the mouthful.

"Of course," I tell him. "Should I try to hide so the boyfriend doesn't molest you again?"

"I'll let him know he's made his point," Wes says, flushing slightly. He glances up, meeting my eyes again for a second. "Seriously, Hobbie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have -- I knew I'd be leaving. I shouldn't have let…" He waves his hand vaguely in front of his chest. "Anything happen between us. Like even as far as it's gone." Which isn't far. We've barely even touched, a brushing of fingers or so at the cash register. But we sit together and talk on his breaks, and he knows I like him. "But I'll miss you," he blurts out, very softly. His interfering boyfriend can't hear him right now, but he has no way to know that.

With a smile, I gently touch his hand. "I'll miss you as well. But you should never be sorry for your feelings. I hope you'll be okay. He obviously has something to offer that I can't see, if you're this willing to stay." More like Wes obviously has no choice in the matter, but I'll let him know I understand, at least.

Wes smirks dryly. "Let's just say his… confidence isn't misplaced," he jokes.

Gross. Poor Wes has no idea Darren's my brother. I did not need that mental image. "Too bad. I could've blown your mind," I tease him back.

"I'm sure," Wes says with a chuckle, then glances at his wristwatch. "I have to get back. See you around?" At my brief nod, he turns and hurries back toward the coffeeshop, stuffing the rest of his cinnamon roll into his mouth as he goes. 

I watch him leave, enjoying the view, before directing my attention to my own black coffee and lemon scone. Once I've finished my breakfast, I sigh heavily. Decades of magical effort need to be undone if I'm to protect Wes from my family. It's not a task I'm looking forward to.

I wonder how he got involved with Fae business anyway. Don't the humans warn their younglings of my kind anymore? We've passed into folklore, yes, but I thought it was still taught. It isn't too uncommon for an unwary human to stumble into employment at the coffee shop, work there a few months or years to pay off whatever debt they've incurred to the Winter Court, and then leave, a little sadder and wiser. But they don't usually get much more entangled than that in our affairs. Wes, on the other hand…

...well, I know exactly what happened to Wes, at least in the broad strokes. He's too generous, too trusting, and too damn attractive for his own good. He must have caught my brother's eye before he fully realized just how much he needed to watch his back and his words around our kind. One misplaced acceptance of a tiny favor would have been all that was needed to start him down the road that was about to whisk him fully into Faerie.

Halloween. I had a week. It would be a lot of work and a significant risk to myself, but at least I had the advantage of knowing what was going on. And Wes had, thank fuck, allowed me a loophole I could treat as another favor. Poor guy really needed to get a handle on that tendency, especially if he was going into the fairy mound to which the coffeeshop led.

Hopefully, he wouldn't need to.

***

I walk further into the vast forest, half aware of my surroundings but focusing upon the connections I have made to this world. I have spent years of work hiding myself and taking upon me a human skin. But a kindness has been done for me, Wes hiding my true name from his employers as he does for so many of his other customers, and it is vital to repay him. I can not allow my brother to take Wes. Mostly because losing his plaything will inconvenience and annoy Darren, but also to save Wes from becoming another discarded toy once Darren loses interest.

I enter the clearing I have created, shattering my seals on this place in a burst of wild magic that spreads out from where I stand. Another faerie mound grows into being before me, bringing me closer to who I was. I pause, feeling a slight rush from being so close to what is mine.

I take off my boots, feeling the welcoming force of my power. I strip off my coat and shirt, shedding most of my human comforts. The coldness of my season fills me and I am home. I stride to the center of the mound, ice forming in my steps. I take a breath and will my connections to this world to appear. Lines of frost spring up all around me, forming a delicate and icy dome. I pull at one, shattering it with a painful grunt and a loud crack. The sound echoes around the dome and into the thin layers between both planes. That was the first break. Now to really get to work. I had hardened my shell around my true power, and like an early thaw, the wards broke one by one, echoing and mournful.

I finish with the wind blowing around me, snow filling the thin air. My body is covered in a thin layer of ice, dangerous and invisible. I've returned to what I once was.

***

My favorite coffeeshop looms ahead of me as I see the ice mound for what it is. The pristine cold wraps around me, both threatening and welcoming. Good. Darren won't know who I am, but he'll notice my presence. He'll know someone with power is here, just not that I'm standing right in front of him. I don't sense my mother around, but that doesn't mean she isn't aware of something changing. My mother has always tended to know more than I expect her to. That, however, will be an issue for later.

I enter the coffeeshop, only to see my brother behind the counter with his tongue halfway down Wes's throat. I take up my position by the cash register and wait for them to notice me.

The wait lasts far longer than I expected. It's a slow time of day, and the two of them have gotten… really involved. I stand there for several minutes, watching them paw at each other and all but make love against the bagel case. Finally I clear my throat loudly. "Do you clean that glass or just dry hump on it?" I ask Darren loudly, causing the few customers in the shop to giggle.

Wes jerks back guiltily and stares at me, wiping his hands awkwardly on his apron while his tawny skin flushes darker. "I clean everything in here regularly," he says with a clumsy attempt at gathering his shredded dignity about him. Giving him credit, he doesn't turn the statement into an innuendo with any glance at Darren. "Can I get you the usual, Hobbie?"

I give Wes my full attention, ignoring my brother. "Actually," I ask, "what's that really good drink you added to the menu? That iced one?"

"Oh, the cream-base mocha peppermint frappuccino?" Wes asks, switching tracks immediately into full barista mode. I'm always impressed by how easily he can flip from making out with my brother to acting completely professional and charming with his customers. "Did you want it with the peppermint syrup or a different one? I tried it with vanilla the other day but I felt like it kind of needed maybe some cinnamon with that." Poor guy, he's babbling. Not too obviously, but I know him well by now. Being trapped between the two of us can't be fun.

"Peppermint is fine," I tell him. "Add four shots thought. I have to lecture today," I confide. Darren frowns from behind Wes, studying me. It's very difficult not to smirk even a bit. He must be sensing that there's something off about me, but unless my control slips, he won't be able to figure out what.

Wes grunts sympathetically about my lecture. "Cream base or regular coffee base in addition to the espresso?" he asks. "I think it tastes better with the cream base but you know me, I like to let the syrup take center stage."

"The cream would be best actually," I say. "Sweetened if you could."

"You got it," Wes says. He scribbles _Hobbbie_ on a cup, adds the appropriate symbols, scoots it down the counter, and goes to scrub his hands with an admonishing glance at Darren. I watch Darren pout and come up behind him, groping Wes's ass before disappearing into the back.

The drink is delicious.

***

"So I guess I won't see you again," Wes says. He's sitting on a park bench across from me, looking everywhere but straight at me. Poor guy, he still thinks I'm human and is trying to shield me from Darren's jealousy while letting me know he cares. "I… I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you as well," I tell him earnestly. If I fail, this will be our last meeting. "I hope that whatever happens, you're safe." I send Wes a slight boon, giving him a bit of protection.

Wes smiles a little at that. "I'm not worried about my safety," he says. "I know Darren can come across as kind of an asshole sometimes, but he really does care for me."

Like a favored pet, I think but don't say. That's just my family's way. If I don't interfere, Wes will be well taken care of, right up until my brother tires of him. After that… well. After that it will be far too late for me to intervene.

"How could he not?" I ask. "You're wonderful." I can feel myself growing more possessive of Wes. My brother has excellent taste, but I want Wes for myself. 

I remind myself that this is a favor, not a theft. I'm repaying Wes for a kindness done, wiping out my debt to him, not indebting him to me.

Wes dimples. "Everybody says that," he jokes. He stands up, looking awkward. "I… I have to get back. Be safe." He holds out his hand to me, offering a handshake of farewell.

Damn. Some small part of me was hoping for a hug. Wes looks like he gives amazing hugs. But he's trying to protect the human he believes me to be from Darren's jealousy. I won't force him into a hug. Not now. If I succeed, there'll be plenty of time for that later. If I fail… well, I won't have much longer to regret the lost opportunity.

I shake Wes's hand. His big brown eyes go wide. "Your hands are _really_ cold, Hobbs," he says, squeezing my hand for a second before he lets go. "You want to come in and get something warm?"

I almost accept the offer. Just to spend a bit more time with Wes before… well, before. But I shake my head. "I can't today. I'll be alright." I don't dare eat or drink anything warm. Only that thin coat of ice masks my true form. If it melts, if I'm revealed too soon -- the very best outcome is that I lose Wes to Darren forever. No, I can't. Not today.

Tomorrow. If tomorrow comes.

***

The air seems both thin and thick as I pass through the night. I see small glimpses of a home I left, both welcoming me and laughing at my folly. Lines of water droplets roll from my body, thin cuts down my icy veneer. My thin protective glamour strains to keep my true essence hidden. It will only be a little longer.

Please, just a little longer.

The procession has begun. I see the members of my court, servants to nobles, some riding, some walking, all arrayed to show our might. It is the cavalcade of the Winter Court. I pass through them, still human enough to not be noticed. Their voices fill my ears, whispers of frost against my very being. The thinner my disguise becomes, the louder the sound grows. Ice forms at my feet, thin and unobtrusive. I can feel more eyes upon me, smug amusement at the sight of a human in their midst. Another about to be spirited away into the faerie.

There is a gap. I look up at the tall white horse standing before me and meet its rider's eyes. All things pause.

I look to my right, my sister all draped in deep blue, her long white hair flowing, her frost-wreathed palanquin floating by effortless magic. I look to my left and see Darren richly clad astride a pearly blue motorcycle, Wes in fae garb seated behind him. Wes stares at me wide-eyed, and his hands tighten almost imperceptibly on Darren's waist, but he doesn't speak or move. Good.

I allow one small smirk to cross my face. The royals are here.

I look up again to my Mother, our Queen. She is tall, regal, pale as us all, her frosty dress woven of ice and midnight by clever magic, her crown tall spikes of ice amid her piled hair.

The thin layer of ice breaks, loud and mournful. Ice and snow swirl around me as I let loose my true power and emerge whole.

"Well." My mother's voice cuts through the cold stillness as our world waits, afraid to continue without her permission. "I see you've survived."

"Yes, My Queen," I reply, standing before her in my battle armor. "Your beauty has only grown, Mother."

She gives me the barest hint of amusement, looking down with disdain from her horse. "You're interrupting my procession. Either take your place or get out of the way."

"I must interrupt, Mother."

The temperature lowers. "And why is that, my child?"

"I must repay a debt," I announce. My mother raises an eyebrow. My sister pulls the curtain of her palanquin aside to look at me, blue eyes wide with surprise.

"A debt? _You_ took a debt? Derek, you are such a soft case," Darren says. I look at him. He meets my gaze, narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Give me Wes. Then you may continue."

Darren scoffs, disbelieving. "Are you seriously trying to steal what's mine? Here and now? Derek, if you want a human there are billions of them. I'll allow you to use the mound. Get into line or get out of here!"

"No." The air shakes with my resolve. "My debt is to Wes and I will take him back to the mortal realm."

Darren glares at me as he pulls his power, ice shards forming around him. "You overstep!"

"Stop," my mother says. Darren turns to face her, immediately dismissing the power. "Let your paramour go to him," she commands, her voice full of power. "Derek, if you are able to hold him, you may repay the debt."

Time slows as I watch Wes. _Please. Please let me help._ He slowly dismounts from the motorcycle, eyes flickering between me and Darren and our mother. It takes a strong human mind to bear the full weight of Faerie in its power. If Wes snaps, if his primate instincts override his conscious mind, or if he decides not to risk my proffered aid… _Please_.

Wes takes a step towards me. Darren skewers me with an icy glare. Wes hesitates, looks between us again. Silence hangs in the air.

Another step. Another. I reach out, offering him my hand, allowing him to choose. It has to be his choice.

Wes grasps my left hand and immediately shapeshifts into flame. I knew it was too easy! I glance at my Mother, then focus my power. The fire hisses around my icy arm, the one that replaced my flesh many eons ago after a fierce battle, and I push, imposing my will upon the wild magic.

"Why does he have to do this sort of nonsense?" I hear my sister complain. I grit my teeth and try to ignore her. We'll have words later.

The fire swirls suddenly around me, fighting my control. My mother, testing my strength? Wes, fighting and fearful? Both? I raise my hand, clenching my fist, and the flame settles. Then it moves and a rush of water surrounds me, pulling me off my feet and upwards. I grit my teeth and push my power out, trying to freeze it. The water shifts and dodges, filling my lungs. Water bubbles around me. If I lose here, we'll never see one another again!

Focus. My power is in breaking, not in holding. To free Wes, I must do both. I grasp the flowing water and use my power to make it into slush, holding it and breaking down its other form. It goes almost solid in my hands, ropes of barely frozen water twining around me and holding me up. 

I glance at my mother in triumph and it only takes that small lack of focus for Wes to shift once more. I fall, cold dark earth crashing upon my frame, burying and pulling me apart. My ice limbs crack and begin to break. My flesh is more resilient, but I still cry out in pain; my limbs are part of me, after all, ice or flesh. I grab hold of the earth and rock surrounding me, and this time, while holding onto Wes, I find the gaps in the magic.

I grit my teeth and summon my strength, poising myself to sever my mother's control, Wes's ties to the faerie realm. I push through the gaps, widening and tearing them, until the mass of earth shatters into snowfall. Wes falls into my arms, human and unconscious, as I kneel before my mother.

She gives me a long, measuring look. "I expect we'll see you at solstice," she says.

I'm caught. She will make me fulfill my duties from now on. No more spending decades in the mortal world, hidden from my faerie kin. I can see the pride in her eyes.

"Yes, Mother," I say simply.

"You should take your prize before he catches a chill," my Mother tells me with a sharp smile.

"You don't want any of his important bits to fall off after you went to such lengths to secure his gratitude," my sister adds from her palanquin with a laugh. She thinks what they all think: that I'm going to make Wes my toy, as Darren would have done.

Darren gives me a glare. "Enjoy him." Great. He'll be pissy about this for centuries. I wrap my Cape around Wes and use my power, whisking us to my home.

Once home, I carry Wes's still-unconscious form to the spare room, pulling back the sheets with a flick of my wrist.

"I, Prince of the Winter Court, break any claim upon you and make no claim towards you," I say formally. Wes shudders in my arms, but doesn't awaken. He may not be able to hear me, but I still want the words to be said aloud, binding on myself and my kinfolk. All my efforts will be worse than useless if Darren steals Wes back while he sleeps. "You are deemed my equal in any affairs between us." There. Wes cannot again incur debt to myself or the Unseelie, even if he becomes no more careful with his tongue.

I lay him gently in the bed and reach toward him, about to use my magic to change my Cape, still wrapped around him, into clothing. Then I pause. That… that will only increase his discomfort. He's already about to wake in a strange house, in a strange bed, to the discovery that I am not what I seemed. He need not also believe that I manhandled his unconscious form to dress him.

Instead, I tuck the blankets gently around him and leave the room. While Wes sleeps, I must start sealing my power away again. I will never again be as close to human as I was, not now that I will regularly be required to return to Faerie on the quarter and cross-quarter days, but I can make an effort.

***

** Wes **

This doesn't feel like my bed. Where am I?

I peek one eye open. That's definitely not my Lisa Frank snuggly blanket. It's a soft matte black comforter, fluffy and elegant-looking. 

The fuck? Whose bed am I in? I don't feel like I got laid last night. I'm sore, but not in a sexy way. I stretch as if still mostly asleep. Doesn't seem to be anyone else in the bed with me. That's good? Maybe? I risk opening both eyes.

Nobody else in the room, okay. _Definitely_ not my shabby grad-student-dropout apartment. The room is stuffed full of crap, but like… nice crap. Swords on the walls, a metric shitload of bookcases all double-lined, a couple of dressers covered in knicknacks. Boxes everywhere, labeled in languages I can't read, some in alphabets I'm not even sure I recognize.

Who the hell did I go home with last night? I can't remember anything. And this doesn't feel like a lived-in bedroom. It feels like the guest room of somebody who doesn't often have guests. Something really weird is going on.

Oh well. Not gonna find any answers lying in bed. I sit up and start disentangling myself from the fluffy comforter. Underneath it, my legs are swathed in icy-looking blue fabric.

Shit. Hobbie. Of course. Yeah, I remember last night now. On my way to Faerie, trying to ignore what deep shit I'd gotten myself into. Trying to focus on the upcoming years of amazing sex with a hot fae prince, not on Darren's possessive nature or what might happen to me when he tired of me. Time enough to worry about that later, that's what I was telling myself.

I'm an optimist, can you tell? I try, anyway. But _Hobbie_. He seemed so reassuringly… human. How the fuck can he be Darren's _brother_?

I'll be honest. I came _that_ close to sticking with the devil I knew. But Hobbie said he wanted to take me back to the mortal plane. And, well, I do appear to be still on the mortal plane, unless the Winter Court's spare guest rooms are decorated very differently from the rest of the icy majestic grandeur. Did I make the right choice? Or have I just jumped out of the frozen frying pan straight into the sardonic, lackadaisical fire?

Is this Hobbie's place? Professor of medieval history, if he'd told me the truth about that. The swords and books seem to fit. The excellent quality of the bed and blankets, not so much. Is it just some random fairy safehouse or… I feel like I've tumbled into a mafia soap opera. I've felt like that a lot since I got hired at the coffee shop.

I should probably find some food. Not fae food. Or some pants. I glance at the dressers. They're mostly inaccessible behind stacks of boxes, and I doubt they contain pants anyway. Besides, what I really need is to fucking stop getting my stupid ass in debt to fairies. No food, no pants, if I have to walk out of this house stark naked but a free man I'll do it.

Hell. I probably owe Hobbie for saving me. Why the fuck do I have to keep spinning around in this vicious cycle?

I wrap the ice-blue cape around my waist, tuck it in securely, and stand up. Maybe a blowjob or two will pay off my new debt. I can hope, anyway.

"Good, you're awake," Hobbie says, walking into the room. "I expected you to still be under the covers. I need to explain."

I sit down again on the side of the bed. "That might be a good idea," I say, probably sounding pretty grumpy. Even if it's way too late for caution, I'm trying hard to watch my words, not give him any more damn loopholes to ensnare me again. Further. Whatever.

Hobbie gives me an impressed look. His being blurs slightly and then reforms. My eyes sweep over him as I notice the ice forming both his legs and his left arm. He's not completely wearing a glamour -- he looks human-ish, not the terrifying fully-fae apparition from last night, but he's not fully human, either. Not the guy I thought I knew. He's a lanky sandy-haired man in shorts and a tank top, but there's enough… dignity in his bearing that the ice limbs, badly cracked and mangled though they are, seem part of him rather than incongruous.

"I deem you my equal in any further affairs between us," he states formally. "Your gift has been repaid. There is nothing owed between us."

"Okay," I say dubiously, half my brain occupied with sifting for double meanings and loopholes. I fucking hate this part of dealing with fae. "If I accept some clothes from you, what debt will I owe then?" I try. I'm not very damn good at this bullshit, but I do try.

"Forgive me," Hobbie says courteously. "You're considered my equal. You owe me nothing and will in all affairs between us incur no debt, nor will I become indebted to you." He gives me a slight, elegant nod. "You did me a kindness in concealing my true name from my family. I have repaid that kindness. From henceforth, you stand free and equal in any dealings with myself or my kin."

I narrow my eyes at him. "So I could take some pants, walk out of here into the mortal realm, never come back, never talk to you or anyone from Faerie again, no strings attached." What's the catch? There has to be a catch. There's always a catch with fairies.

"Absolutely," Hobbie responds. "Although my pants might be rather long on you. If you must take some pants, I do hope you'll allow me to point you toward ones that will fit better."

I just glare at him, not accepting or refusing anything.

"And if you do leave as you describe… know that I am glad for what we have been to one another."

Huh. I don't trust any of this at _all_, but I've developed a pretty good ear for fairy talk. He's not leaving any gaps in his assertions. Nothing to trap me by. Other than the pants, but I'd really rather not get arrested for public indecency. Especially not in November.

"And if I should want to… return the pants at some future date," I ask slowly. "Will there be a way I can contact you without going through the Winter Court's coffee shop?" I'm not accepting anything now. Except the loan of some pants. I want to think about it. But… well. I want to think about it, let's leave it at that for now.

"I've not completely given up my human life," Hobbie says. "I've told you where I teach and what department. Besides, I highly doubt the coffee shop will remain," he adds lightly.

Of course. A human escapes and the whole thing crumbles into fairy dust, or whatever. Changes location so I can't find it again and try for some sort of revenge. I'd like to think I'm not that much of a dumbass, but I know some people are.

"Then I will accept a pair of pants," I tell Hobbie. That shouldn't be too much debt, even if he's lying, twisting the truth in a way I can't hear, crossing his fingers on another plane of existence. "And perhaps someday we'll see each other again."

Hobbie whisks a pair of pants out of thin air and tosses them at me. "I'm sorry," he says. "It didn't seem… right to tell you who I was. I wasn't sure if you truly wanted him. Until you said you wished you could get away, I couldn't be certain. Forgive me."

This is the part where I get tangled up in fairy logic. Is forgiving him doing him a favor? Is it somehow _accepting_ a favor? All I've really got to guide me in this kind of situation is my gut. Which is really bad at fairy logic. But it'd be an asshole move to _not_ forgive him. That's all I've got. Not being an asshole, even when it lands me in fairy quicksand.

"You're forgiven," I say, trying not to sound too brusque and uncomfortable. I just… I want to get out of here. I need to get out of here. Stop talking to fairies. I turn away a little -- I won't ask him not to look, he can get an eyeful if he wants -- drop the cape from around my waist, and start putting on the pants.

Hobbie turns away politely. I honestly didn't expect that.

"There is one more point on which I would reassure you," he says, still so much more formal than the man whose coffee order I knew. "You may feel that the kindness you did me was a small thing for such a repayment. Fear not, it was greater than you knew, and the repayment I have given you was none too great for my debt to you."

"Um, okay," I say, not looking at him. Can he please just stop _talking_? I want to believe him. I want -- I want to have our friendship back, the way it was, or find out what we can be to each other. Were the conversations we shared all fake, the persona he was putting on? Was the attraction between us just a glamour? Or did he really… does he really have an interest in me, as _me_? Not just as a plaything, like how Darren saw me?

Is Hobbie someone, really, under the glamour, someone _I_ would have an interest in, or was that just the glamour he wore too? I want to find out. I want to stay, and I can't. I don't dare fucking risk getting entrapped again. I'm so close, so goddamn close. He's the last, too-tempting gate between me and -- if he's not still lying through his teeth to me -- freedom.

"Farewell," Hobbie says politely, and the air grows suddenly warmer. He's gone.


	2. Ten Years After

It's a nice fall day -- brisk, bright, not too warm or cold, the blue of the sky competing to outdo the orange and yellow and deep red of the trees. I walk confidently toward the building that houses the history department, swinging the paper bag in my hand.

Hobbie still works here. I checked that. "Dr Derek Klivian" on the faculty website, looking not a day older than he did ten years ago when I knew him. Is that his fae glamour, or just an outdated university website photo? Could be either, really. I've tracked down his office hours too. Barring a twist of good or bad luck, he should be in his office but not busy with students right now.

The departmental secretary is a chunky black woman with amazing magenta braids. "Good morning, ma'am," I say with my most charming smile. "Could you please let Professor Klivian know I'm here to return the pants he lent me?" See, I have a cunning plan. If Hobbie remembers me and wants to see me, the reference to the pants should identify me. Hopefully. I doubt he's lent too many people pants this century. If he doesn't remember me or doesn't want to see me, he can just disavow knowledge of the pants, no harm done.

"Sure," she says, and types something on the computer. "Pants, huh? That's a new one. Do you know Dr Klivian well?"

Good fucking question. "I used to," I allow. "As well as anyone ever knows him, anyway." God fucking dammit, I'm starting to talk like a fae again myself, second-guessing my words for truth or falsehood.

The woman grins and leans forward. "We all think he's a cryptid," she confides with a wink.

I chuckle. They're not wrong. "That's a valid hypothesis, really."

She laughs. "You can go back. He's the last door on the left, the only open one back there."

Welp, there goes my cunning plan. Okay. I can do this. I've bluffed my way through worse things than awkward meetings with former crushes. "Thanks," I tell the secretary warmly, turn with my paper bag, and head down the hallway with a deliberately jaunty swagger.

Near the open door, out of sight from both desk and office, I pause to brace myself. Hobbie hasn't changed in ten years. At least I'm prepared for that, but it'll be… more difficult, meeting him without that reminder of what different people we've both become.

I square my shoulders and stride into the office, rapping on the open door like college students everywhere.

"I don't know why you think it's funny to make up a new ridiculous excuse each time you come here," Hobbie complains, sounding exasperated. "You could honestly just ask to see me." Then he looks up and his jaw drops. He studies me for a moment and stands. "Wes?"

"Oddly enough, yes," I say, trying for a grin. Hobbie has changed after all. He's not older, but he looks sharper and less human. And at least we're over the major hump of first greeting. "Who were you expecting me to be?"

Hobbie stills. "I'm sure you're aware," he says softly.

Well, I wasn't aware before, but it only takes a moment's thought to guess. "Your brother pretends to bring you pants in order to get into your office?" I ask, kind of weirded out. "Why the fuck doesn't he just--" I catch myself in time. I only have one volume setting, loud, and the door's still open behind me. Better not to discuss teleporting brothers in what's still relative public.

Hobbie gestures at the door and it closes. "He enjoys it. I never expected… I'm very pleased to see you."

I go to take a seat, but that doesn't quite feel right. Instead I set the paper bag on his desk and stay standing. "It's good to see you too," I say truthfully. "I really did bring back the pants you gave me. Just… in case." I shrug, awkward. Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting from this conversation. I wasn't really allowing myself to hope for anything in particular, so I don't know if we're heading for it or not.

"I told you, you're an equal to me. There can not be debt between us," Hobbie says, looking hurt. "Is this…" He frowns. "If this was all you wanted, you could have just mailed them to the university."

Yup. "Exactly," I say with a grin, waiting for him to catch on. If I was actually worried about owing him for the pants, I could have mailed them within the first day or two after I got home. But every time I went to pack them up, I've had to ask myself… do I believe him? Do I really think I'm risking a debt to him by keeping them? Am I willing to give up my last flimsy link to him? And every time, the pants have gone back into my closet, or in a corner of a cupboard, or under a table or a bed.

Hobbie just stares at me for a moment. "You wanted to see me? Even after?"

I gulp. "It took me this long," I admit. "I couldn't… I couldn't figure out what your angle was. What the catch was." Dumb move, Janson. Showing all your cards. But it's the only move I ever have, really. "If there is one, I still don't know what it is. But I--" I've spent the last ten years replaying our conversations in my head. Reviewing our final exchange, trying to find the hidden loophole there had to be. Remembering our daily chats near the coffee shop, as much to torture myself as to glean any information from them. I'd thought he… liked me, was interested in me. I'd also thought he was human.

I lick my lips awkwardly. "When I thought you were human, I thought we… had something. That we could be good together. I don't know if -- if any of that was real. But I--" This is it. This is where I get my dumb ass whisked into a fairy mound for good, or where I chicken out and flee the building. I draw a deep breath and find my words sticking in my throat.

"There never was an angle," Hobbie says. "I was as close to human as one of I can be." I'm not sure if he catches my slightly confused look at that phrasing or simply realizes he's used what must be a Fae turn of phrase in English, but he backtracks slightly. "One of my kind, I mean. I never lied to you, Wes. I never faked anything. It was real."

Then this is it. Do I trust him? How much am I willing to risk?

I pull myself together. I didn't plan this far, but I like to think improvisation is one of my strengths. "Would it be incredibly inappropriate if I asked you out for coffee?"

"You know," Hobbie says thoughtfully, "I only stopped there at first to make sure my brother was following the rules. Then I met you." He meets my eyes and smiles very slightly. "So yes, I would enjoy having coffee with you."

Holy fuck. I have no idea what I expected from this meeting, but it wasn't this. But I'm not complaining. "Awesome," I say. "Should we go now or meet up later? Are you busy?" I won't object if he wants to meet me there. Might take a moment to scream a little.

"I'll make my TA teach my afternoon course," Hobbie tells me, pulling out a flip phone and beginning to text as he heads around his desk.

"Keeps them on their toes," I agree cheerfully, and offer him my arm.

Hobbie takes my arm with his left hand, still texting with his right. "Lead the way."

Thank goodness I looked over the campus map. I can probably find my way to the coffee shop in the arts building without disgracing myself completely. "Your hand isn't as cold as I'd expect," I joke gently, remembering the sight of Hobbie's icy prosthetic. His hand looks completely human now, but it's still a little chilly. His hands have always been chilly.

Hobbie huffs a slight laugh. "Cold hands, cold heart?"

I offer him a smirk. "I'll reserve judgment on that one until I have more evidence." I should _not_ be moving this fast, but… well. I've already jumped in with both feet. Time will tell if that was the right decision.

Hobbie smiles, rare and beautiful. "I think you'll enjoy the experience."


End file.
